by Rick Riordan
Honestly, I didn’t know much about dryad life cycles, or how they protected themselves from climate disasters. Perhaps if I’d spent more time over the centuries talking to them and less time chasing them…
Wow. I really didn’t even know myself anymore.
“We have a lot to discuss,” said one of the dryads.
“Peaches,” agreed Peaches. He looked at me with a clear message: Go away now.
I had so many questions for him: Why had he been absent so long? Why was he here and not with Meg?
I suspected I wouldn’t get any answers tonight. At least nothing beyond snarls, bites, and the word peaches. I thought about what the dryad had said about not trusting mortals to solve nature-spirit problems. Apparently, that included me. I had delivered my message. Now I was dismissed.
My heart was already heavy, and Meg’s state of mind was so fragile…. I didn’t know how I could break the news to her that her diapered little peach demon had become a rogue fruit.
“Let’s get you back to camp,” Lavinia said to me. “You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
We left Don behind with the other nature spirits, all deep in crisis-mode conversation, and retraced our steps down Telegraph Avenue.
After a few blocks, I got up the courage to ask, “What will they do?”
Lavinia stirred as if she’d forgotten I was there. “You mean what will we do. ’Cause I’m with them.”
A lump formed in my throat. “Lavinia, you’re scaring me. What are you planning?”
“I tried to leave it alone,” she muttered. In the glow of the streetlamps, the wisps of pink hair that had escaped her cap seemed to float around her head like cotton candy. “After what we saw in the tomb—Bobby and the others, after you described what we’re facing tomorrow—”
“Lavinia, please—”
“I can’t fall into line like a good soldier. Me locking shields and marching off to die with everybody else? That’s not going to help anybody.”
“But—”
“It’s best you don’t ask.” Her growl was almost as intimidating as Peaches’s. “And it’s definitely best that you not say anything to anybody about tonight. Now, c’mon.”
The rest of the way back, she ignored my questions. She seemed to have a dark bubble-gum-scented cloud hanging over her head. She got me safely past the sentries, under the wall, and back to the coffee shop before she slipped away into the dark without even a good-bye.
Perhaps I should have stopped her. Raised the alarm. Gotten her arrested. But what good would that have done? It seemed to me Lavinia had never been comfortable in the legion. After all, she spent much of her time looking for secret exits and hidden trails out of the valley. Now she’d finally snapped.
I had a sinking feeling that I would never see her again. She’d be on the next bus to Portland with a few dozen fauns, and as much as I wanted to be angry about that, I could only feel sad. In her place, would I have done any differently?
When I got back to our guest room, Meg was passed out, snoring, her glasses dangling from her fingers, bedsheets wadded around her feet. I tucked her in as best I could. If she was having any bad dreams about her peach spirit friend plotting with the local dryads only a few miles away, I couldn’t tell. Tomorrow I’d have to decide what to say to her. Tonight, I’d let her sleep.
I crawled into my own cot, sure that I’d be tossing and turning until morning.
Instead, I passed out immediately.
When I woke, the early morning sunlight was in my face. Meg’s cot was empty. I realized I’d slept like the dead—no dreams, no visions. That did not comfort me. When the nightmares go silent, that usually means something else is coming—something even worse.
I dressed and gathered my supplies, trying not to think about how tired I was, or how much my gut hurt. Then I grabbed a muffin and a coffee from Bombilo and went out to find my friends. Today, one way or another, the fate of New Rome would be decided.
In my pickup truck
With my dogs and my weapons
And this fool, Lester
REYNA AND MEG WERE waiting for me at the camp’s front gates, though I barely recognized the former. In place of her praetor’s regalia, she wore blue running shoes and skinny jeans, a long-sleeved copper tee, and a maroon sweater wrap. With her hair pulled back in a braided whip and her face lightly brushed with makeup, she could’ve passed for one of the many thousands of Bay Area college students that nobody would think twice about. I supposed that was the point.
“What?” she asked me.
I realized I’d been staring. “Nothing.”
Meg snorted. She was dressed in her usual green dress, yellow leggings, and red high-tops, so she could blend in with the many thousands of Bay Area first graders—except for her twelve-year-old’s height, her gardening belt, and the pink button pinned to her collar that displayed a stylized unicorn’s head with crossed bones underneath. I wondered if she’d bought it in a New Rome gift shop or somehow gotten it specially made. Either possibility was unsettling.
Reyna spread her hands. “I do have civilian clothes, Apollo. Even with the Mist helping to obscure things, walking through San Francisco in full legionnaire armor can attract some funny looks.”
“No. Yeah. You look great. I mean good.” Why were my palms sweating? “I mean, can we go now?”
Reyna put two fingers in her mouth and let loose a taxi-cab whistle so shrill it cleared out my eustachian tubes. From inside the fort, her two metal greyhounds came running, barking like small-weapons fire.
“Oh, good,” I said, trying to suppress my panic-and-run instinct. “Your dogs are coming.”
Reyna smirked. “Well, they’d get upset if I drove to San Francisco without them.”
“Drove?” I was about to say In what? when I heard a honk from the direction of the city. A battered bright red Chevy four-by-four rumbled down a road usually reserved for marching legionnaires and elephants.
At the wheel was Hazel Levesque, with Frank Zhang riding shotgun.
They pulled up next to us. The vehicle had barely stopped moving when Aurum and Argentum leaped into the bed of the truck, their metal tongues lolling and tails wagging.
Hazel climbed out of the cab. “All gassed up, Praetor.”
“Thank you, Centurion.” Reyna smiled. “How are the driving lessons coming along?”
“Good! I didn’t even run into Terminus this time.”
“Progress,” Reyna agreed.
Frank came around from the passenger’s side. “Yep, Hazel will be ready for public roads in no time.”
I had many things to ask: Where did they keep this truck? Was there a gas station in New Rome? Why had I been hiking so much if it was possible to drive?
Meg beat me to the real question: “Do I get to ride in back with the dogs?”
“No, ma’am,” said Reyna. “You’ll sit in the cab with your seat belt on.”
“Aw.” Meg ran off to pet the dogs.
Frank gave Reyna a bear hug (without turning into a bear). “Be careful out there, all right?”
Reyna didn’t seem to know what to do with this show of affection. Her arms went stiff. Then she awkwardly patted her fellow praetor on the back.
“You too,” she said. “Any word on the strike force?”
“They left before dawn,” Frank said. “Kahale felt good about it, but…” He shrugged, as if to say their anti-yacht commando mission was now in the hands of the gods. Which, as a former god, I can tell you was not reassuring.
Reyna turned to Hazel. “And the zombie pickets?”
“Ready,” Hazel said. “If Tarquin’s hordes come from the same direction as before, they’re in for some nasty surprises. I also set traps along the other approaches to the city. Hopefully we can stop them before they’re in hand-to-hand range so…”
She hesitated, apparently unwilling to finish her sentence. I thought I understood. So we don’t have to see their faces. If the legion had to confront a wave of undead comrades, it would be mu
ch better to destroy them at a distance, without the anguish of having to recognize former friends.
“I just wish…” Hazel shook her head. “Well, I still worry Tarquin has something else planned. I should be able to figure it out, but…” She tapped her forehead as if she wanted to reset her brain. I could sympathize.
“You’ve done plenty,” Frank assured her. “If they throw surprises at us, we’ll adapt.”
Reyna nodded. “Okay, then, we’re off. Don’t forget to stock the catapults.”
“Of course,” Frank said.
“And double-check with the quartermaster about those flaming barricades.”
“Of course.”
“And—” Reyna stopped herself. “You know what you’re doing. Sorry.”
Frank grinned. “Just bring us whatever we need to summon that godly help. We’ll keep the camp in one piece until you get back.”
Hazel studied Reyna’s outfit with concern. “Your sword’s in the truck. Don’t you want to take a shield or something?”
“Nah. I’ve got my cloak. It’ll turn aside most weapons.” Reyna brushed the collar of her sweater wrap. Instantly it unfurled into her usual purple cape.
Frank’s smile faded. “Does my cloak do that?”
“See you, guys!” Reyna climbed behind the wheel.
“Wait, does my cloak deflect weapons?” Frank called after us. “Does mine turn into a sweater wrap?”
As we pulled away, I could see Frank Zhang in the rearview mirror, intently studying the stitching of his cape.
Our first challenge of the morning: merging onto the Bay Bridge.
Getting out of Camp Jupiter had been no problem. A well-hidden dirt road led from the valley up into the hills, eventually depositing us on the residential streets of East Oakland. From there we took Highway 24 until it merged with Interstate 580. Then the real fun began.
The morning commuters had apparently not gotten word that we were on a vital mission to save the greater metropolitan area. They stubbornly refused to get out of our way. Perhaps we should have taken public transportation, but I doubted they let killer dog automatons ride the BART trains.
Reyna tapped her fingers on the wheel, mumbling along to Tego Calderón lyrics on the truck’s ancient CD player. I enjoyed reggaeton as much as the next Greek god, but it was perhaps not the music I would’ve chosen to soothe my nerves on the morning of a quest. I found it a bit too peppy for my pre-combat jitters.
Sitting between us, Meg rummaged through the seeds in her gardener’s belt. During our battle in the tomb, she’d told us, lots of packages had opened and gotten mixed up. Now she was trying to figure out which seeds were which. This meant she would occasionally hold up a seed and stare at it until it burst into its mature form—dandelion, tomato, eggplant, sunflower. Soon the cab smelled like the gardening section at Home Depot.
I had not told Meg about seeing Peaches. I wasn’t even sure how to start the conversation. Hey, did you know your karpos is holding clandestine meetings with the fauns and crabgrasses in People’s Park?
The longer I waited to say something, the harder it became. I told myself it wasn’t a good idea to distract Meg during an important quest. I wanted to honor Lavinia’s wishes that I not blab. True, I hadn’t seen Lavinia that morning before we left, but maybe her plans weren’t as nefarious as I thought. Maybe she wasn’t actually halfway to Oregon by now.
In reality, I didn’t speak because I was a coward. I was afraid to enrage the two dangerous young women I rode with, one of whom could have me ripped apart by a pair of metal greyhounds, while the other could cause cabbages to grow out of my nose.
We inched our way across the bridge, Reyna finger-tapping to the beat of “El Que Sabe, Sabe.” He who knows, knows. I was 75 percent sure there was no hidden message in Reyna’s choice of songs.
“When we get there,” she said, “we’ll have to park at the base of the hill and hike up. The area around Sutro Tower is restricted.”
“You’ve decided the tower itself is our target,” I said, “not Mount Sutro behind it?”
“Can’t be sure, obviously. But I double-checked Thalia’s list of trouble spots. The tower was on there.”
I waited for her to elaborate. “Thalia’s what?”
Reyna blinked. “Didn’t I tell you about that? So, Thalia and the Hunters of Artemis, you know, they keep a running list of places where they’ve seen unusual monstrous activity, stuff they can’t quite explain. Sutro Tower is one of them. Thalia sent me her list of locations for the Bay Area so Camp Jupiter can keep an eye on them.”
“How many trouble spots?” Meg asked. “Can we visit all of them?”
Reyna nudged her playfully. “I like your spirit, Killer, but there are dozens in San Francisco alone. We—I mean the legion—we try to keep an eye on them all, but it’s a lot. Especially recently…”
With the battles, I thought. And the deaths.
I wondered about the small hesitation in Reyna’s voice when she said we and then clarified that she meant the legion. I wondered what other we’s Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano felt part of. Certainly I had never imagined her in civilian clothes, driving a battered pickup truck, taking her metal greyhounds for a hike. And she’d been in touch with Thalia Grace, my sister’s lieutenant, leader of the Hunters of Artemis.
I hated the way that made me feel jealous.
“How do you know Thalia?” I tried to sound nonchalant. Judging from Meg’s cross-eyed look, I failed miserably.
Reyna didn’t seem to notice. She changed lanes, trying to make headway through the traffic. In the back, Aurum and Argentum barked with joy, thrilling in the adventure.
“Thalia and I fought Orion together in Puerto Rico,” she said. “The Amazons and Hunters both lost a lot of good women. That sort of thing…shared experience…Anyway, yeah, we’ve kept in touch.”
“How? The communication lines are all down.”
“Letters,” she said.
“Letters…” I seemed to remember those, back from around the days of vellum and wax seals. “You mean when you write something by hand on paper, put it in an envelope, stick a stamp on it—”
“And mail it. Right. I mean, it can be weeks or months between letters, but Thalia’s a good pen pal.”
I tried to fathom that. Many descriptions came to mind when I thought about Thalia Grace. Pen pal was not one of them.
“Where do you even mail the letters to?” I asked. “The Hunters are constantly on the move.”
“They have a PO box in Wyoming and—Why are we talking about this?”
Meg pinched a seed between her fingers. A geranium exploded into bloom. “Is that where your dogs went? Searching for Thalia?”
I didn’t see how she’d made that connection, but Reyna nodded.
“Just after you arrived,” Reyna said, “I wrote Thalia about…you know, Jason. I knew it was a long shot that she’d get the message in time, so I sent Aurum and Argentum out looking for her, too, in case the Hunters were in the area. No luck.”
I imagined what could happen if Thalia received Reyna’s letter. Would she come charging into Camp Jupiter at the head of the Hunters, ready to help us fight the emperors and Tarquin’s undead hordes? Or would she turn her wrath on me? Thalia had already bailed me out of trouble once, in Indianapolis. By way of thanks, I’d gotten her brother killed in Santa Barbara. I doubted anyone would object if a stray Hunter’s arrow found me as its target during the fighting. I shivered, thankful for the slowness of the US Postal Service.
We made our way past Treasure Island, the anchor of the Bay Bridge midway between Oakland and San Francisco. I thought about Caligula’s fleet, which would be passing this island later tonight, ready to unload its troops, and if necessary, its arsenal of Greek fire bombs on the unsuspecting East Bay. I cursed the slowness of the US Postal Service.
“So,” I said, making a second attempt at nonchalance, “are you and Thalia, er…?”
Reyna raised an eyebrow. “Involved ro
mantically?”
“Well, I just…I mean…Um…”
Oh, very smooth, Apollo. Have I mentioned I was once the god of poetry?
Reyna rolled her eyes. “If I had a denarius for every time I got that question…Aside from the fact that Thalia is in the Hunters, and thus sworn to celibacy…Why does a strong friendship always have to progress to romance? Thalia’s an excellent friend. Why would I risk messing that up?”
“Uh—”
“That was a rhetorical question,” Reyna added. “I do not need a response.”
“I know what rhetorical means.” I made a mental note to double-check the word’s definition with Socrates the next time I was in Greece. Then I remembered Socrates was dead. “I only thought—”
“I love this song,” Meg interrupted. “Turn it up!”
I doubted Meg had the slightest interest in Tego Calderón, but her intervention may have saved my life. Reyna cranked up the volume, thus ending my attempt at death by casual conversation.
We stayed silent the rest of the way into the city, listening to Tego Calderón singing “Punto y Aparte” and Reyna’s greyhounds jubilantly barking like semiauto clips discharged on New Year’s Eve.
Stick my godly face
Where it doesn’t belong and—
Venus, I hate you
FOR SUCH A POPULATED area, San Francisco had a surprising number of wilderness pockets. We parked on a dead-end road at the base of the tower’s hill. To our right, a field of rocks and weeds offered a multimillion-dollar view of the city. To our left, the incline was so heavily forested you could almost use the eucalyptus trunks as climbing rungs.
From the hill’s summit, perhaps a quarter mile above us, Sutro Tower soared into the fog, its red-and-white pylons and crossbeams forming a giant tripod that reminded me uncomfortably of the Delphic Oracle’s seat. Or the scaffolding for a funeral pyre.
“There’s a relay station at the base.” Reyna pointed toward the hilltop. “We may have to deal with mortal guards, fences, barbed wire, that kind of thing. Plus whatever Tarquin might have waiting for us.”
“Neat,” Meg said. “Let’s go!”